Your support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)As Sam Marloweâ??s car rolled into the town of Millerâ??s Crossing, the young investigator could only help and wonder that this was entirely not what he had been expecting. His first thoughts upon hearing the legends of the town had been something dark and foreboding. He had expected some incredibly sinister Gothic architecture, or even some crows as he entered the town. But instead, he had only received a picturesque image of a lovely Friday afternoon, with a number of townspeople about their business. The docks were clean and a few people played on the beach, as it was summer. It was a beautiful example of a New England town.
Sam could hardly believe that this was supposedly a hub of paranormal activity. He was a psychic, or at least thatâ??s what he believed. He communicated with spirits and communed and such. He used these skills to investigate paranormal activities. Usually he did some ghost hunting or occasionally even investigated a site for â??disturbancesâ??, but it was all fairly routine. Millerâ??s Crossing, however, had more stories and legends than begot a town usually of this size.
His car pulled up to a local inn, just inside the town and resting on the seaside. Sam got up and out of the car, stretching from the long drive. It hadnâ??t been particularly enjoyable, but this was a purely scholarly trip. Sam himself was a man of average height and a slight build. His black hair was shorn close to his head in a neat cut, and he had blue eyes that lit with relative youth(twenty years of age) and intelligence. He walked into the inn, an old building with a rustic feel and looked around. It was mostly empty, save for one person at the desk. He whistle a little. Well, not what I expected. He thought.
Sam could hardly believe that this was supposedly a hub of paranormal activity. He was a psychic, or at least thatâ??s what he believed. He communicated with spirits and communed and such. He used these skills to investigate paranormal activities. Usually he did some ghost hunting or occasionally even investigated a site for â??disturbancesâ??, but it was all fairly routine. Millerâ??s Crossing, however, had more stories and legends than begot a town usually of this size.
His car pulled up to a local inn, just inside the town and resting on the seaside. Sam got up and out of the car, stretching from the long drive. It hadnâ??t been particularly enjoyable, but this was a purely scholarly trip. Sam himself was a man of average height and a slight build. His black hair was shorn close to his head in a neat cut, and he had blue eyes that lit with relative youth(twenty years of age) and intelligence. He walked into the inn, an old building with a rustic feel and looked around. It was mostly empty, save for one person at the desk. He whistle a little. Well, not what I expected. He thought.